There was a time when I believed professional writers a part of some elite crowd. Untouchable, glamorous artists producing works beyond my humble comprehension and changing the world’s view one perfect prose at a time.

Then in 2003 I attended my first writers conference. There I made an important discovery…

These people are nuts and I like them!

In one weekend the veil tore away and I learned writers were like me. A bunch of loons who have conversations with their imaginary characters. Who sit buggy-eyed in front of their computers eating way too much junk food and sucking down coffee or tea as if it were the nectar of life. They type until their hands cramp and heads ache, struggling to bring into words the uncontainable ideas within.

In short, I discovered authors are people too. They have lives like you and me. They struggle through high points and low points.

Some of their houses probably suffer from neglect like mine.

So when you don’t find me elaborating on research or filling your head with fanciful stories, you’ll find me just being honest about life.